


You Got Your Fortune Right in Your Hands

by USSFriendship



Series: WinterHawk Mandatory Fun Day [5]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Children's Hospital, Domestic Avengers, First Kiss, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Pet Adoptions, Protective Bucky Barnes, Volunteer Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-23 06:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18544468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/USSFriendship/pseuds/USSFriendship
Summary: Avengers PR maven Darcy Lewis tells Clint he needs to make some public appearances, and Clint freaks out about it. Good thing Bucky's there to help.





	You Got Your Fortune Right in Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Better late than never! I technically missed the deadline for MFD, so this is being posted un-beta'ed. I will reupload when I get the clean copy back. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Mandatory Fun Day](https://mandatoryfunday.tumblr.com/) Prompt: [Clint and children](https://mandatoryfunday.tumblr.com/post/184236167229/mandatoryfunday-this-week-weve-got-another)
> 
> Clint Barton Bingo: T5 - First Kiss  
> Bucky Barnes Bingo: Y3 - Protectiveness  
> Marvel Bingo: G1 - Canon Divergence

Being an Avenger is weird. It certainly has its high points - helping people is great - and its low points - new and interesting injuries, and seeing some of the absolutely awful shit people are capable of - but, mostly, being an Avenger is just fucking weird, at least for Clint, and it has upset his life in ways he could have never imagined. Whether that was a good thing or not really depended on the day. 

Before the Battle of New York, Clint wouldn’t have been able to tell you if he actually liked being a SHIELD agent. It wasn’t something he really thought about much, since he hadn’t had much of a choice when he signed up - it was that or jail - and, sure, it wasn’t boring, but it was mostly just a thing that he did and was good at. And it was safer, not to mention a damn bit more legitimate, than what he was doing before, if it was still petty morally grey. After, though, large swaths of his life with SHIELD - his life in general, if he was being honest, because he had virtually no life outside of work - had been eliminated. Hawkeye’s face was everywhere, which made it difficult to go on more undercover missions. Pretending to be, say, a flight attendant was a lot more difficult when half the magazines on the plane had his face in them somewhere. Long missions also went out the window when it was determined that Hawkeye the Avenger was more valuable than Agent Barton. Most of the time, that was a good thing; it wasn’t like he was regularly assigned month-long missions on a beach in Barbados or anything. 

The glad-handing bullshit, though, Clint could definitely do without that. He would cheerfully take six weeks in Bucharest in January to never again have to spend an evening stuffed into a tux, dancing with rich old ladies who had donated large sums of money to some restoration society or preservation foundation, or were married to some high ranking military dick-weasel who needed reassurance that the Avengers weren’t just a super powered frat. He could do it, sure; plaster the superhero smile on his face and “hmm” or “uh huh” in tall he right places, and no one would ever know he felt like a six year old dressed in their Sunday best and trying desperately to be good. He’d had all kinds of training and decades of practice, but that didn’t mean he liked it at all. 

Being constantly in the public eye was difficult and sucked a lot of the time, like when he made the mistake of tweeting about his favorite hole-in-the-wall pizza place and the next time he popped by for a hot pie, he couldn’t get in because it was too busy. It was hard to be too mad about it, though, after he dropped in one day just before closing and the place was nearly empty, giving him the opportunity to talk to Gus, the owner. Turns out the influx in customers saved the business, and Gus thanked him for it profusely, going so far as to add a “Hawkeye Special” to the menu, even though all Clint ever ordered was a standard pepperoni. 

The special appearances, though, those were great. Those were almost always great. Darcy Lewis, formerly assistant to Dr. Jane Foster and now PR manager for the Avengers, tracked him down on a random Tuesday, and hit him with a withering glare so intimidating, he had no choice but to do what she asked. Apparently, she had been trying to set up some appearances with his favorite charities or something, but found that he didn’t actually have any. One long, strange conversation later, and Clint was scheduled to show up at a massive pet adoption event in Prospect Park and visit the children's’ ward of a local hospital with Tony and Sam. He really wasn’t sure about that one, given that he had almost no experience with children and a deep-seated hatred of hospitals. The whole thing struck him as depressing, which, he guessed, was sort of of the point, and his job was to make it a little less so. How he was supposed to accomplish that was anyone’s guess, considering he kinda looked like depression personified in the same worn out sweatpants for three days and couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something that wasn’t leftover pizza. 

That, there, was one of the great mysteries of his life: how does Clint Barton only ever seem to eat leftover pizza? At some point, it had to have been fresh and hot, right? The world may never know. 

**=|=|=|=|=**

Bright and early Saturday morning, Bucky wandered into the communal kitchen to grab a post-workout smoothie and found Clint staring absently out the window over the kitchen sink, drinking straight from the coffee pot. Clint didn’t move at all, gave no indication that he’d heard Bucky come in. True, there was probably no one in the world more capable of total stealth than the Winter Soldier, but there was almost no one in the world with greater situational awareness than the Amazing Hawkeye, and it wasn’t like he was being particularly stealthy, anyway. He cleared his throat to try and get Clint’s attention, but had no luck with that, either. It seemed odd, but it was a good few hours before Clint was normally out of bed, and, even on his best days, Clint was not a morning person. 

“Clint?” he tried carefully; the last thing Bucky ever wanted to do was startle anyone - fuck knows how poorly he reacts to being startled - especially not post workout when he’s drenched in sweat and probably smells like a yak. 

“Uh, what? Sorry.” Clint jerked and stammered out a response, before collecting himself and trying again. “Uh, sorry about that, Bucky, must have zoned out. Guess ’m a little out of it.” 

“Everything ok?” Bucky isn’t sure where to go with this, but Clint doesn’t seem particularly ok, and he has no idea what to do about it, but he desperately wants to fix it. Sure they are teammates on a very close-knit team, and are friends besides, but this seems to be veering into territory a lot more personal than either of them ever got by choice, and he wasn’t sure his concern would be welcome. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t be, but he didn’t want to risk it, especially as he absolutely didn’t have a crush on the archer that he was afraid may be warping how he viewed their interactions, making him see their relationship as being closer than it actually was. Nope. Not in the slightest. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Uh, yes. I’m fine, I just have a thing in a bit, an appearance, and I am freaking out a little bit about it.” 

“An appearance?” Bucky frowns. Steve and Darcy had been trying to rope him into public appearances, and while he’d been able to stave them off up to this point, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to push them off forever. Seeing Clint so anxious over one certainly didn’t give him the warm-fuzzies about doing it himself. “What did they talk you into?” 

“Dog adoptions. I mean, it should be easy and, really, I get to spend the day with dogs and that can’t possibly suck, but I don’t know what I am supposed to do, or what the goal is or what anyone wants of me. Do I just stand there and play Vanna White to the puppers or something? Like, what am I doing? They’re dogs, they sell themselves; either you want one or all of them or whatever, or you don’t. I don’t think-” He stops abruptly, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply. He lets out his breath slowly before opening his eyes and continuing, “fuck, sorry, Bucky, I’m rambling, and I know you don’t give a shit about my random, bullshit anxieties.” 

Oh. Oh, no. Bucky had no idea how he’d gotten that impression, but the fact that it was how Clint felt caused a ball of ice to form in his gut. He was going to have to do something to fix that, change his behavior and attitude, and he was going to pointedly ignore thinking about why he was so affected by the lot of it. 

“Nah, Barton. You can ramble at me anytime. Better than listenin’ to Steve go over mission plans or tryin’ to get me to act like a normal human being.” 

Clint snorts a laugh at that. “Yeah, like Spangles knows anything about being a normal human. I love the guy, but his idea of a good time is going for a 30 mile jog. Hard pass, thanks.” His face falls again. “Uh, thanks for letting me talk at you. I, uh. Yeah, I appreciate it.” 

“No worries, seriously. Any time.” There, that’s good. Not creepy or overly aggressive, but friendly, right? Fuck, Bucky is sure he used to be better at people than this. Granted, most people weren’t as hot as Clint. Or as funny, or as good a shot, or as accepting of brainwashed assassins. “Hey, what if I tag along?” 

What. The. Fuck. The words were out of his mouth before he realized he was saying them, and once they were out, there was no taking them back. 

“Yeah?” Clint’s voice sounded so hopeful to Bucky, it instantly melted the ball of ice in his gut, while also making him feel like maybe he hadn’t colossally fucked up. 

“Yeah, I mean, then you won’t be alone, and maybe it will get Darcy and Steve off my back for a minute. Plus, dogs are way easier to deal with than people, right? So, maybe it won’t be that bad, right?” Now that he’s thinking about it, it actually isn’t a terrible idea. It is way better than some of the stuff that’s been suggested - he’d rather do his own dental work than spend a day at the VA talking about living with PTSD or something - and he will probably earn some brownie points for doing it on his own rather than being forced into it. The fact that it meant he got to spend the day with Clint didn’t even factor into it. Nope. Not even a little bit. 

**=|=|=|=|=**

Luckily, Bucky didn’t have much time to stew about his impulsive decision before it was time for them to leave. Clint had figured he wouldn’t be up for the crowds that came with public transportation after a day full of interacting with people, so he’d had Darcy arrange for a car and driver for the day, for which Bucky was more grateful than he’d like to admit; he had made great progress in acclimating to the world, but heavily crowded, confined areas could still be difficult, especially when he was already stressed out, and he suddenly found himself pretty stressed out. 

He wasn’t sure why, didn’t know what had changed, though, which added a layer of frustration on top of everything else. Yes, Clint was absolutely gorgeous, but he’d known that yesterday and been able to behave normally, so that wasn’t it. Yeah, sure, Clint was funny, effortlessly so, and without being mean about it, but, again, he was funny yesterday, too. Really, everything Clint was, here and now, sitting next to him in the back of a town car, he was yesterday, too, and Bucky would be nailed to the wall if he could figure out what changed, what had happened to turn him into some sort of bashful school girl. They rode in a companionable silence, which only gives him more time to ponder his newfound crush on the archer. 

Some amount of time later - Bucky had no idea how much time had passed, and when did that ever happen? - they pulled up to the park and were greeted by a frazzled looking woman with a clipboard. 

“Mr. Barton? I’m so glad you are here,” the woman, R. Rakow, DVM., according to the name tag on her scrub shirt, started. She had mousy brown hair was streaked with grey and held to the back of her head with an uncapped pen, leaving a bunch of short, squiggly blue lines on the back of her neck, and Bucky almost giggled at that. It would never cease to amuse him that for all doctors have a reputation for being stuffy and put together, all of the ones he seems to meet are, well, questionably functional messes. “Call me Rose, please. Today shouldn’t be too difficult. Seven shelters and rescues have all brought out critters looking for their forever homes, and all we really need you to do is talk up the pets. We’ve got mostly dogs and cats, but there are a couple of pigs, and an iguana that hates everything.” She paused to take a breath, and finally seemed to notice Bucky. “Oh, hello. You’re, um, you’re Sergeant Barnes, correct? Ms. Lewis didn’t -”she flipped furiously through the pages on her clipboard, “Darcy didn’t mention you. I’m sorry, I don’t have you on the list. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” 

Bucky offered her his most charming smile and held his hands up in a placating gesture. “No worries, ma’am. I was a last minute addition, so I’m not gonna be on you list. I hope you have a place for me here, though.” 

“Oh, yes. Absolutely!” Rose was positively beaming, and looking at Bucky like he had just offered her the world “The more the merrier! We could use the help. How do you like cats? Are you allergic? Mostly, we just need someone to keep them calm. A new location and lots of people can stress them out and then they get all prickly and no one wants to take them home, even though they might be the sweetest thing under other circumstances.” 

Clint snorted a laugh, but smothered it quickly when Bucky shot him a quizzical look. Clint turned towards Rose with an apologetic smile, “sorry, sorry. It’s just, that description perfectly fits a friend of mine. Sweet and friendly most of the time, and then an adorable ball of murder and rage if he’s overtaxed.” Clint looked back to Bucky, eyes sparkling. 

Bucky, for his part, flipped Clint off and tried to fix him with his best glower, but part of him was preening at the words. He’d scold himself later for being so affected by Clint saying such soft things about him. Probably. For all he knew, Clint may well have been talking about Tony or Natasha, but some part of his brain was desperately hoping that Clint was talking about him. Since when had he ever wanted to be sweet or friendly or _adorable_ ? 

“That sounds great. I would love to spend the day with the cats, ma’am.” 

Again, Rose beamed at him ash she lead them towards the cat section and introduced him to the cattery managers, before walking Clint over towards the dogs. 

**=|=|=|=|=**

Clint couldn’t really say the day passed uneventfully, because he spent ALL DAY WITH DOGS. Dozens of them. No day spent with dozens of dogs could ever be uneventful. It couldn’t be anything other than the BEST. DAY. EVER., even if nothing other than playing with dogs really happened. Well, a bunch of requests for photos and autographs happened, too, but they were all from people equally as enthusiastic about animals as he ws, and that was sort of the point of his being here, and everyone was super nice, so he really didn’t mind too much. As soon as they left Bucky with the cats, Rose led him over to where the dogs were and showed him around. Some dogs were in kennels, but not many, and they all seemed to be a little on edge. A couple of the kennels had blankets draped over them and Rose explained that those pups were starting to panic. Clint made a note to try and give those good doggos some special attention. There were a couple of playpens set up for smaller dogs and puppies, but most of the dogs were in a large chain link pen, all playing together and rough housing. Off to the side were two smaller dog runs set up for one-on-one meet and greets between the dogs and their prospective new families. All of the rescues and shelters put their dogs in together and they were differentiated by different colored collars, so all Clint really needed to do was make sure that no one walked off with a dog without going through the proper adoption procedures, and pointing new families to the correct organization for paperwork. The rest of the time, he got to play with dogs. All day. Just…. Ok, he just got to stand in a big pen full of a couple of dozen dogs who were all attention starved. 

He was going to owe Darcy so big for this. Not only did this not suck, this is something he would gladly do anytime he was able. This made every clammy hand belonging to some smarmy military officer who wanted to try and get Hawkeye in their pocket worth it. This justified every ridiculous stalker tweet. And, hell, today the stalker tweets were welcome. A bunch of pictures of him in the puppy pile were tweeted out, and a bunch of those dogs were adopted out to happy families, which was the point of the whole thing. 

At one point he looked over at the kitty corner (heh) to see if he could catch Bucky’s eye. What he caught instead was an eyeful of Bucky, with a tiny grey fluff ball perched on one shoulder and a massive orange tomcat cradled up against his chest, smiling and chatting away with a little old lady. Every once in a while, he would pet the giant cat with his metal hand, and it was kinda like seeing the softer side of an Austin Powers villain, but it was also so painfully sweet it made something in Clint’s gut twist. 

It wasn’t new, not really, but this was somehow different than it had been before. Probably because, holy shit, Bucky barns covered in kitties is absolutely as adorable as you would imagine. And maybe, just a little bit, because Bucky had not only noticed that Clint was freaking out a little this morning, but had actually worked to try and make it better. It looked kinda like maybe, just a little bit, Bucky cared for him as more than just a teammate. 

**=|=|=|=|=**

On the business end of things, the event went better than either of them would have expected. So many pets found their forever homes, including the massive orange tomcat Bucky spent most of his day holding, who ended up going home with the older woman Bucky had spent nearly an hour talking with. Bucky was pretty proud of himself; there were no freakouts, he didn’t scare any people or animals, and he actually had a great time. By the time the car had come back to pick them up, they were exhausted and covered in fur, but happy nonetheless. 

The driver, a pleasant enough guy from the Stark Industries motor pool, let them know that the drive back to the tower was going to take a while due to construction delays and traffic, which set Bucky a little on edge, but really shouldn’t have. After all, the anticipation and anxiety of not knowing what to expect from the event were gone, but without anything else to focus on he was suddenly very aware of the man sitting next to him. He really didn’t need to worry about that, though. 

“So, gotta thing for cougars, then?” 

It startles Bucky out of his thoughts and he looks over to see Clint grinning at him, eyes sparkling with a bit of mischief. 

“Uh, what? Cougars?” 

Clint give a little laugh. “Yeah, cougars. Another name for middle-aged single women who chat up hot young men. Seems like every time I looked over you had the attention of one cougar or another.” He reaches over and pulls an orange hair of Bucky’s shirt. “And what appeared to be a small bengal tiger. You made some friends today, Barnes. Have fun?” 

“Yeah, I really did. Thanks for letting me tag along,” he took in the grin in Clint’s face, “but cougars ain’t really my type. I am pretty sure I woulda brought home that big cat, though, if that lady hadn’t taken him.” 

“Man, I feel ya on that,” Clint let out a jaw-cracking yawn and slid down a little in his seat, “I wanted to bring all the good puppers and doggo’s home with me, but I don’t think Tony’d be too happy with a couple dozen mutts running around the tower.” He cuts himself off with another yawn, and tilts a little to the side, which slides his right arm over on the arm rest until it is flush with Bucky’s. He doesn’t even seem to notice that he is basically propping himself up with the metal arm, though Bucky sure as hell does, and it’s got him feeling some kinda way about it. 

**=|=|=|=|=**

They talk about random things for the rest of drive, Clint yawning all the while, and by the time they finally get back to the tower, he is nearly asleep with his his head resting on Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Barton, hey, we're here,” he says quietly. He doesn’t want to stay in the car, but he doesn’t really want to disturb the archer, either. 

“Mmhwha? Oh. Oh, shit, Barnes, why didn’t you shove me off or something? Fuck, did I drool on you,” Clint asks while checking Bucky’s shirt. “Hell, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t really sleep last night, too keyed up about today. Didn’t help that I spent six hours or whatever running around playing with dogs, which is fun but kinda exhausting. Thanks for letting me sleep on you.” 

About a dozen thoughts crossed Bucky’s mind at the same time. Fuck it, fortune favors the bold. “Barton,” he starts with a lascivious grin, “you can sleep on me any time.” He waggles his eyebrows, hoping make it clear he is joking, which he totally is. Mostly. 

Clint chuckles. “Bucky, that was awful. That was me caliber bad. I’d take you up on it, if I weren’t afraid of a gaggle of jealous, heartbroken cougars tearing me limb-from-limb, though.” 

They stepped into the elevator and rode up in silence, though it wasn’t awkward or strained. Clint’s floor was first, and he pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning against with great effort, but as he stepped out he turned to look back at Bucky, “I mean, it man. Thank you for coming today. It made me feel a lot better knowing you were there. I’m glad you had fun. We should do it again sometime.” 

“I get it, these things are easier when you’re not doing them alone. Anytime, Clint.” 

“I’m going to hold you to that, Barnes. G’night.” The elevator doors closed, and Bucky hoped Clint meant it. 

**=|=|=|=|=**

Almost as soon as the event was over, Bucky and Clint were all over, well, everything. A picture of a grinning Bucky holding a tiny white kitten up so they were nose to nose became #wintersnowball and damn near broke twitter. Clint was mostly ok with that, because it overshadowed #hawkhunt, the hashtag that accompanied the picture of him sprawled on the ground being pinned down and drooled on by a giant tawney mastiff with comically large, floppy black ears. Tony took great glee in explaining to Bucky that the joke came from the old school Nintendo game Duck Hunt, finally pulling up videos of the 8-bit dog condescendingly laughing at players who failed challenges. A ridiculous number of arguments broke out on various social media platforms about which Avengers were cat people vs dog people, though the internet was in agreement that Bruce was definitely a bird person. 

Darcy was over the moon, and positively bounced into the kitchen the next morning, phone in hand, chattering about they had made her day, and her job so much easier. “You guys, this is the best. I don’t even have to do anything. This is great. You need to do more of these.” 

Clint groaned into his coffee mug, and Bucky tried not to react at all. Sure, he’d had a bunch of fun, and he lov- liked spending the day with Clint, but it had still been a big day full of people, and he still wasn’t great with those. 

“Huh uh. Nope,” She starts, before taking a deep breath and moving on, “I had an email from the event director this morning - Rose loves you two, by the way - letting me know that adoptions were up nearly 40% over other events they’d done. Plus a whole bunch of others stats were up, like dog training class sign ups and microchipping and things like that, which is apparently indicative of ‘conscious long-term thought’, her words, which means that the pets are less likely to return to the shelter when the new and shiny wears off.” She pauses and takes another breath. “Oh, and pig adoptions are up 300%. So, good on you for that. 

“Look, I know you hate doing this kind of stuff, but in addition to making my life easier, which I know is your primary goal in life, you also made life better for a bunch of sweet little critters. That has to count for something, right? I’m not saying you need to do this every day, but once a month - missions permitting? Is that too much to ask?” 

Neither of them answered, but Sam, of all people, chimed in “I’m totally game for going to the next one with you guys.” All eyes in the room were instantly on him. “What? What are all the looks for? You guys had a lot of fun, and it looks a lot less stuffy than visiting high schools and talking about “everyday habits to keep yourself safe” or whatever.” 

“Well, I’m sure not going to complain,” Darcy replies, “you guys still need to try and do at least one appearance a quarter - but more is better! - and if you don’t pick one for yourself, I will pick one for you, and I promise you, those will suck. I’m talking fundraisers for regional theaters bad.” 

With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room, leaving no opportunity for anyone to add anything or for Clint to ask if this success was enough to get him out of the visit to the children’s hospital in a couple of weeks. 

**=|=|=|=|=**

It wasn’t. A few hours later he decided to press his luck, so he headed down to Darcy’s office, which was really just her old desk in Jane Foster’s lab. Turns out, an Avenger cancelling on sick kids is about the worst thing they could do, and Darcy had explained that to him in great detail and threats of violence if he brought it up again. 

Look, it wasn’t that Clint hated kids. Not at all, actually. Hell, it wasn’t like he really knew anything about kids. It’s not like he had even really had the opportunity to spend any time with them. He’d gotten his GED, but was basically a third grade drop-out; going to school was pretty impractical when you traveled around with the circus, and he was either older or younger enough than the other kids involved with the circus to not really have any idea how they interacted or what they did. Just Barney, and he really hoped that wasn’t how other kids acted. The life of crime he picked up when he left Carson’s Carnival, and SHIELD after that, didn’t involve kids. Ever. As a matter of principle. So, really, all of what he knew about children came from television and things he observed in parks and shit. 

The issue, if he were to be honest about it, wasn’t really with the “children” part of the children’s hospital so much as it was with the “hospital” part. Clint didn’t remember much of his life before the circus - most of it lost to time and more concussions than he could count, though some came form intentionally trying to forget - but very little brought the terrible memories of the trauma of his very early years like hospitals. Any medical facility, really. It was one of the things he appreciated Stark for the most, actually; Stark had gone to great length to do what he could to keep Tower Medical from looking like an actual medical facility. Some things couldn’t be disguised, of course, but an effort was made, and it was usually enough. There was nothing to be done about the smell though, and it never failed to bring back memories of sitting in the ER with a broken wrist or in an MRI hoping that the big machine would fix his ears or whatever other horror his brain felt like throwing at him. Combining the two, childhood and hospitals, just seemed like a terrible fucking idea. 

“Look, Clint,” Darcy said, voice quiet and expression soft, and fuck it all from hell to breakfast, either she was especially intuitive, or he was losing his ability to keep his emotions off his face. “I know there is some reason you’ve suddenly got the squirmies about doing this, but you only have to do it this once, and if it ends up being truly terrible we can find something else for next time. I promise. It really don’t think it will be that bad, though, and you won’t be alone. Tony and Sam are going with you, and I’ll be there for this one, too, so you’ll have plenty of backup. It will be fine, you’ll see.” 

With a mumbled thanks, he walked out of the lab and straight to the range, taking the stairs, rather than waiting for the elevator. He just needed to sink arrows into targets until his arms ached and he’d be fine. Really. As soon as he had his bow in his hands things would be right as rain. 

He was stopped short as soon as he was through the door by a cheery “Hey, Barton!” Bucky. Fuck. Last time he was upset around Bucky, they ended up petting kittens together before Clint slobbered all over him. And that was all that happened, for sure. He definitely wasn’t reassured by having Bucky next to him, and, for sure, no flirting took place, and, make no mistake about it, Clint did not find himself completely smitten by super soft Bucky holding kittens. Absolutely not. In no way did Bucky make him feel better in all kinds of ways, and under no circumstances did Clint want him to do it again. He is a sniper - a retired assassin, no less - and he definitely does not see something in Bucky that makes him want to let go of it all for just a minute, or relax the hypervigilance and masks even a tiny bit. He is also the absolute best at lying to himself, and even better at avoiding thoughts he doesn’t want to think about, so he conjured up a smile - he hoped it’d reach his eyes - and threw a hand up in a waive, tossed out a “Heya, Barnes!”, and headed towards the locker in the back of the room that holds some of his kit. 

“Barton? Hey, Clint? Everything ok?” between the tone in Bucky’s voice, and the simple fact that Bucky was talking to him at all, Clint knew his little charade had failed. Well, hopefully he looked tired instead of creepy. 

“Huh, oh, yeah. I’m fine, just, well, I just got my ass handed to me by Darcy. You’d think that someone who is best friends with the Black Widow would be at least a little used to being taken to task by tiny, aggressive women.” He ends with a chuckle. There, no lie. He can do this. 

“Yeah, she does that. She’s a spicy little thing, for sure.” Bucky was rambling, he knew it, but he didn’t know what else to do. “Any, uh, anything I can help with?” 

“You can take my place at the Children’s hospital next month, that would be super helpful.” 

Seventeen different expressions crossed Bucky’s face in about a third of a second, before settling on carefully neutral. “Yeah,” he forced a chuckle, “I don’t think I can manage that. I think they’d notice that I’m a good few inches shorter than Hawkeye should be, not to mention the arm thing.” 

“Oh, I think the kids will love a metal arm. Who doesn’t love a metal arm? I love the metal arm.” Clint shut up abruptly and pulled a face. “Fuck. I made it weird. Sorry.” 

“No, no. Always good to meet a fan.” He winked and flexed his left wrist to make the plates reset. “But that isn’t exactly what I meant. Your arms pretty famous. Hell, there are entire websites dedicated to your arms, and I am sure a bunch of parents would be upset to miss out on seeing them.” 

“Yeah, that’s...wait, what? There’s websites about my arms? What?” 

“Oh, yeah, your arms have a following. A pretty devoted one, too. Almost as big as the one for Steve’s abs.” 

“You are,” Clint blinked slowly a couple of times, “You are fucking with me, yeah? You have got to be fucking with me. Part of the internet dedicated to _my_ arms? When you and Steve and Thor exist? How do you even know about this?” 

Well, fuck. ‘Go head, Barnes,’ he thought to himself, ‘explain how you know about the Cult of Clint Barton’s Arms.’ 

“Darcy told us about it.” There, that’s not creepy, right? And it was technically the truth. A quick glance at Clint let him know that his answer was insufficient, though. “After the acid spewing doombot battle, when you and Steve ended up covered in the stuff and had to strip there in the street before it ate through your suits? She was so happy about it because it showcased how dangerous being an Avenger was and, therefore, how brave we were, and that you guys had provided enough thirst post fodder to keep her set for a while.” He thought about that whole conversation, and how bizarre it was for him to sit in what was, effectively, a debrief on public image. Not to mention the inherent awkwardness in learning what thirst posts were, and that there were entire sites full of them, that were dedicated to just him. He had spent the rest of the day looking at a bunch of them, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with people, before he stumbled across one dedicated to Clint, and if he spent a couple of hours falling down that particular rabbit hole, well, that was between him, his browser history, and JARVIS. “It’s… pretty weird, honestly. But,” he made a show of looking Clint up and down, “I get it.” He winked and chuckled and hoped with everything he has that he was coming off flirty and not creepy. Hell, he’d settle for coming off less creepy than he felt. This seemed to be happening a lot. 

Clint cracked a small smile at that, genuine, this time, but he still looked miserable, and Bucky just could not let that stand. If asked, he wouldn’t be able to explain it, but he had to get that vaguely wounded, forlorn expression off Clint’s face. It was suddenly the most important thing in the world. 

“Look, I may not be able to take your place at the hospital thing, I mean, me at a children’s hospital is a terrible idea anyway, I’d likely just scare ‘em, but it is a couple of weeks away. No sense worrying about it now. How about I kick your ass on the range for an hour or so, and then we head up to the gym. Natasha is sparring with Tony today, so we can grab some popcorn and sit back and watch her beat him up.” 

That got a real, actual-facts grin out of Clint. “Kick my ass, huh? You’re welcome to try, old man.” 

**=|=|=|=|=**

As usual, the contest ended in a draw, and they wound up in the gym as planned, a bowl of popcorn between them. Natasha was, as expected, absolutely trouncing Tony, though the man was definitely holding his own. 

Tony managed to trip Nat and she landed hard on her left knee, but used the new position to launch herself at Tony’s thighs, knocking him over her shoulder. Clint grimaced, because that was bound to be a hard landing, flat on on his back, but Tony managed to save it, and used the momentum to roll himself back up to his feet. 

“8 for style!” Clint called out before shoving a handful of popcorn in his face. 

“8? Are you crazy? That was a 6.5 if you’re being generous,” Bucky countered. 

That stops Tony dead, and he turned to look at them with exaggerated wounded expression on his face. “Ouch. Harsh score the Russian judge.” 

“Oh, no,” Nat replied, stalking up behind him, “that,” she wrapped an arm around his neck, getting him in a headlock, “is a 4 from the Russian judge.” She laughed and as she gave him a noogie. 

Tony squwaked in indignation. “That’s offensive. I am offended, Itsy Bitsy.” 

Natasha laughed and lets him go, holding her hand out for a shake. “You did great, Tony, ignore what those two say.” 

“Great for _me_ ,” Tony was trying to amused, but it just came out a little bitter. “Yeah, yeah,” he held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture when Natasha looked like she’s going to speak again, “I know. You’ve got years of hard-earned experience on me, and you’re, y’know, you. Anyway, great sparring with you, thanks for the lesson.” He reached out and shook her hand, then grabbed his stuff and strode out of the gym without another word. 

Clint blinked at that. He would never say that he and Tony were best friends, but they were pretty close and Clint had never seen him like this before. “What the hell was that,” he asked, at a genuine loss as to what to do. “We didn’t do or say anything we haven’t before. He knows we were just joking, right? Should I-” 

Before he could get up to follow, Natasha cut in, “Tony’s having a rough day. Couple of days. Probably the same sort you’re having.” 

Realization hit Clint all at once. He and Tony had initially bonded, outside of team activities, at least, over having similarly horrible fathers. They’d actually gotten drunk and compared the scars left of from dad-inflicted wounds. Tony hadn’t suffered anything as permanent as Clint’s hearing loss - at least nothing physical, Howard was too smart for that - but Tony had lived through it for a lot longer. 

“Plus, he’s not used to not being the best at things,” she added. “That, though, is good for him, I think. Being knocked on your ass builds character.” 

Bucky snickered from beside Clint, “No one would ever accuse Tony Stark of lacking character.” He stopped, because he knows how to read a room, and he could see from the looks on Clint and Nat’s faces that whatever is going on is serious, “He knows that sparring with any of us, even Rhodes or Falcon, is like trying to play baseball with a hockey stick, right? Y’all have made that clear to him, right? He just isn’t properly equipped...” he let’s the words hang there as he works it out. “That is literally what the suit is.” 

“Yeah, but,” Clint sighed at the situation, which was going tango uniform quickly, “there’s more than that going on here.” He felt like he should say more, but anything else would just lead to Tragic Backstory Hour, and that always fucking sucked. And, for some reason, he didn’t want Bucky to know that about him, that he’s damaged goods far beyond what can be read in his SHIELD file. He shot Natasha a pleading look, but she just shook her head at him. Great, no help there. 

“Really long, shitty story short, it looks like Tony is dreading the hospital thing almost as much as I am,” he sighs and closes his eyes. This is almost certainly going to lead to more questions, and Clint is pretty sure he’d tell Bucky anything he wanted to know. About anything, ever, honestly, but that isn’t really relevant here, but the idea worries Clint all the same. “It is bringing up all sorts of insecurity issues that his suit and my training can’t fix or hide.” 

“You’re upset for him.” Isn’t a question, but there is an unspoken ‘why’ at the end. 

Clint looked back to Natasha for… something. Anything. 

“Yeah, sorry, Clint,” she said apologetically, “I can’t help you with this one. But if you’re going to do the whole thing, you might want a change of scenery.” 

Almost as soon as she is done talking, Wanda and Sam walked in, laughing at each other, and Clint wondered briefly, but not for the first time, if she’s a witch. 

“Right. Yeah. Ok.” Clint anxiously rubbed his hands on his thighs just for something to fucking do, before looking at Bucky, “You want to get out of here? Pizza and Tragic Backstory Time?” 

“Sure.” Bucky looked a little lost. “But it can just be pizza and Dog Cops reruns. If you want. I mean, I want to hear the other thing. But, only if you want to tell me? I, fuck, Clint, let’s tackle the pizza thing, and we can figure the rest out.” He plastered a smirk across his face, and started to stand up, “we need to get outta here, this place is full of riffraff.” 

Clint was so grateful for the immediate conversational about-face he could kiss Bucky. Not that he didn’t love Sam and Wanda, but he didn’t want them asking what was wrong and restarting the whole fucking thing over again. Instead, Sam flipped Bucky off, which just made Wanda laugh harder - both of them appearing completely oblivious to the tension they’d nearly walked in on - while Clint and Bucky were able to leave on a solid exit line. 

They made it all the way to the elevator before either of them said anything, but as soon as the doors slid shut Bucky looked up toward the ceiling and asked JARVIS to hold the elevator. 

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on,” Bucky leaned heavily on the drawl, hoping the antique Brooklyn accent will help, even if he isn’t sure what with, “an’ you don’t gotta tell me, but you’ve been actin’ off for a coupla days now, and I wanna fix it, if I can.” 

“Why Barnes, I had no idea you cared,” Clint answered with a smile, even if it was a brittle thing. 

“Fuck’s sake, Clint.” Bucky ran his flesh hand through his hair, clearly a nervous gesture and therefore definitely not something Clint should find so hot. “Of course I care about you. You’re my friend, and those are in short supply. No, that’s not, I didn’t mean that how it sounded. Just that, after everything, there are very few people I can stand to be around for any length of time without feelin’ like I’m gonna crawl right outta my skin, and even fewer that can stand to be around me. You’re one of ‘em, and I don’t like seein’ you upset. Makes me anxious and I need to fix it so you’re back to normal.” He paused, thoughtful expression on his face, “whatever passes for normal for you, anyway.” 

“You’re a real charmer, you know that, Barnes?” Clint cracked another smile, this one a little stronger, and Bucky relaxed a little knowing his joke landed. “Hey, J, my floor, please, and can you call Cataldo’s for us, order us some pizza?” 

“Of course, Agent Barton. The usual?” 

“Yeah, J, usual for me. Buck?” 

“Usual for me, too, J.Thank you.” Bucky thrilled a little at having a usual anything, but tried not to think about how much he likes the fact that it sharing a usual pizza order with Clint. There is something so domestic and secure about the routine of it, especially for someone who, not all that long ago, didn’t even have a routine in where he slept at night, let alone any sort of security. 

Before long they were camped out on Barton’s couch, watching Dog Cops and munching their pizzas, when Bucky let out a frustrated groan. 

“Y’know, this is great, but it would be even better if I had thought to change into sweats or something first.” 

Clint made a weird noise and started choking on his pizza, but he just held up a finger in a ‘one sec’ sort of gesture when Bucky made a move towards him. When he was finally able to swallow, he looked at Bucky and started laughing again. “Smooth line, there, Buck.” 

Bucky just blinked at him, confused, “What?” 

“You wanna go slip into something more comfortable,” he said in an odd sort of way, like he was telling a joke. When he saw that the confused expression hadn’t left Bucky’s face he sighed. “Fuck, uh. It’s a silly cliche line used before sex, or to incite sex, or something. I am not sure if it ever happens in the real world, but shitty sitcoms love that line.” 

“Uh, no? I’d just, if all I’m doing is eating pizza and watching TV, I’d rather do it in sweatpants or basketball shorts or somethin’.” Look, it wasn’t that Bucky was uncomfortable, necessarily, but he’d taken to wearing skinny jeans recently - ok, fine, since Darcy told him that they did ‘great things’ for his ass and thighs, and Natasha responded by hinting that Clint was a fan - and they weren’t exactly the most comfortable things in the world, and they definitely weren’t well suited to a lazy day lounging on a sofa. Even if they did make his thighs look pretty fucking spectacular. 

“Oh, yeah. Actually, that’s a really good point.” Clint abruptly set his pizza down and shoved himself off the couch. “Wish I’d thought of that,” he added as he walked out of the room. 

Well, fuck. That didn’t go as fucking planned. Not that he had a plan here. Well, nothing beyond “make the sad look on Clint’s face go away.” He was just getting ready to head to his room when Clint walked back in, now wearing a ratty sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of threadbare flannel pajama pants. He guessed they used to be black, once upon a time, because they had little red hour glasses all over them. Bucky burst out laughing when he figured it out. 

“Holy shit, Clint, are you wearing Black Widow pajamas?” 

Clint responded by pretending to scowl and chucking a wad of soft fabric in his face. “I am, in fact, wearing Black Widow jammies,” he huffed. “They are comfy, and I dare you to tell Tash you laughed at them. And I grabbed some for you to wear, too, so you wouldn’t have to go all the way back to your room, you ungrateful dick.” 

“Thanks, Clint,” was his sheepish reply, as he pushed himself up off the couch. “I appreciate it, I’ll just go, uh, change.” watched as Clint flopped face first on the recently vacated couch not paying any attention to what was in his hands. In fact, he didn’t really register anything about the clothes Clint was letting him borrow, until he pulled the soft flannel pants up. The soft grey material was patterned with Captain America’s shield. Oh, haha, Hakwguy, very funny. At least the T-shirt was plain, even if it was alarmingly purple. When he walked back into the living room, he saw Clint still sprawled face-down on the couch, and there was really nothing to be done except to resume his spot, this time actually sitting on Clint, who let out a surprised squawk. 

“What the fuck. Get off, asshole, you’re heavy.” Clint thrashed about a bit in an attempt to throw him off, but, with Bucky sitting on his ass and the top of his thighs, he didn’t really have enough leverage to accomplish much. 

“Nah, I’m good here. You’re pretty comfortable, Barton. ‘Sides, now we both have Cap’s shield on our ass.” 

“Aw, what’s wrong with the Cap jammies? You got something against wearing your best friend’s merch?” Clint kept squirming underneath him and Bucky was laughing too hard to notice that Clint had actually been moving with a purpose, until he heard the telltale click of a phone taking a picture. He looked down to see that had managed to grab his phone and worm his arm - held in a position that didn’t look natural and couldn’t possibly be comfortable - free enough to snap a pic that he now appeared to be texting to someone. 

“How in the hell” Bucky started, but Clint cut him off. 

“Contortionist,” Clint said simply, as if it is all the explanation required. The look on his face must have made it clear that he didn’t get it. “Pretty much all the kids you see in the circus can twist themselves up like pretzels. Kids are naturally bendy and it isn’t really something you can start doing when your older and less naturally flexible.” Next thing he knew, the body under him started to move in a rolling wave motion, and all of a sudden Bucky wass being thrown on the floor, while Clint was perched on the couch in an awkward lunge position. “Believe it or not, I’m about half as flexible as I used to be, and I can’t fit into nearly as small a space and I used to.” He stood up to shake out his arms and added, “I mean, relative to my size, obviously.” 

Bucky was a whole lot of things at this new information. Turned the hell on, because, hello, but also a little sad and a lot curious. “How small a space can you fit in?” 

Clint leveled him with an incredulous look. “Of all the thoughts you could have about this new information, that’s the one you’re going with?” 

Of course not, but he isn’t going to tell Clint that, so he just shrugged instead. It was apparently the right thing to do, because Clint’s face split into a massive, blinding grin, and Bucky felt like he’d just won something very important. 

“I dunno, I haven’t really tested it in a while. Maybe later I can see if Tony can science an adjustable box or something. Right now, though, pizza’s getting cold.” 

Right. Tony. Pizza. That impossibly sad look on Clint’s face. Did they really need to get back to that? They were just laughing, and Bucky would do almost anything to keep that going. 

“Well, your pizza maybe getting cold, but mine’s gone, slow poke.” He opened the lid on his pizza box to prove his point. 

Clint just mock glared at that. “I’m actually not hungry anymore, I ate entirely too much. I’m just not a super-powered human garbage disposal who can suck down an entire pizza in three bites.” 

Bucky pulled himself of the floor and flopped on the couch next to Clint, far closer than they’d been before the pajama break. “Wellllll,” Bucky dragged the word out, and stretched his arm across the back of the couch, nudging Clint’s shoulder a little in the process, “‘m not sure what the super’s got to do with it. ‘Ve never needed much help with, ah, suckin’ anything down.” He managed a smarmy smirk and an eyebrow raise before Clint burst out laughing. Not a second too soon, really, because Bucky was having a hard time keeping a straight face after such a ridiculous line. 

“Fuck, Bucky. You’re too much. That was great and awful,” the way Clint said it, wiping tears from his eyes, made it feel like a compliment. It also made him wish it were actually flirting in earnest, not just a way to cheer Clint up. 

“Well, I’d tell you that I try, but no one likes false modesty.” Bucky’s actually pretty proud of that one. It is getting easier, and maybe this what it was like back before everything fell to shit. That’s a heavy thought, but it settled something in him. It feels important and warm. “Hey, thank you.” 

“Yeah, sure, anytime,” Clint threw out in a breezy sort of way. “Quick question: for what?” 

So, Bucky told him. “This. The flirting, even this hamfisted whatever. It, I think, is how it used to be. Or closer than I’ve gotten so far. It feels a little like I found a piece.” 

Clint just blinked at that. “Well, I’m glad I could help then. Unless it’s bad, in which case, uh, I’m sorry.” He gimaced slightly. “Well, no, I’m not. I like this, it’s fun. But I’m sorry if it hurts you or is toxic or whatever.” 

“No, no. No, it’s nothing like that. Don’t think that. Not even a little bit.” he spit out in a rush. “Look, I’m never going to be that guy again. None of them. Not the one who shook conditioning and lived under bridges and shit, surviving by doing handyman work for little old ladies because they were the only people that he didn’t find terrifying. Not the weapon, not now that Shuri’s worked her techno-wizardry on my brain. Not the sergeant, and thank fuck for that, he was an asshole who was born of necessity and misery.” He took a fortifying breath before going on, “and not Bucky. Not Steve’s Bucky, anyway.” 

“Steve’s Bucky, yeah.” He says as he repositioned himself so he is sitting on one folded leg and moving away from Bucky just a little bit. 

“Steve’s Bucky, yeah. I don’t know what else to call him, especially since he’s just kept calling me that, and that’s how he introduced me when I got here, so now everyone calls me Bucky, even though I’m not that guy.” 

“Not Steve’s Bucky?” 

“I really don’t know why you keep saying it that way, I just don’t know what else to say. Kid Bucky?” 

“You’re not, uh, Steve’s Bucky now?” Clint’s voice has gone low and soft and it is a little alarming. 

“I just said ‘m not. Wouldn’t be anyway, though, would I? Are you the same person you were when you were 22? Even without the war and all the shit that did to me and all the ways it changed who I was, I was a dipshit 22 year old who didn’t really think about the future and just chased down pretty folks who wanted to spend an evening havin’ fun. That ain’t a sustainable lifestyle or mentality. Definitely not with everything that happened to that idiot kid after.” Bucky looked over at Clint, hoping he hasn’t ruined the night. What a fuckin’ yo-yo of a day it’s been. 

What he finds on Clint’s face sure as hell isn’t reassurance, but Bucky doesn’t really know what it is. He looked wounded and confused and something else. He really looked like he wanted to say something, but kept talking himself out of it. 

“You got something to say, Barton, just say it. I’m pretty hard to offend with any of this, and I don’t think you could if you tried.” 

“Oh, Buck, you don’t know the half of what I could do if I tried.” It isn’t vicious, but it is icy cold and tinged with an air of inevitability. 

“Whoa, what just happened here Barton? I’m gettin’ whiplash from all this. And I have a pretty good idea of what you are capable of, but I also trust you ain’t gonna use any of that shit on me. An’ since I know that, if you did say something that hurt, it’d hafta be an accident, right? So, that wouldn’t offend me. Hurt my feelings, maybe, but being offended requires intention.” Bucky sighed, and closed his eyes. What the fuck was happening, and how could he fix it? How could he get back to three minutes ago with the laughing and the flirting? 

“I’ve upset you, and I dunno how, but I need to fix it. Anyone else put that look on your face an’ I’d rip their arms off and beat ‘em half to death with ‘em. Knowin’ that it was me and not knowin’ what t’ do about it is makin’ me feel a little like I need t’ peel my skin off. That seems unpleasant an’ time consumin’, so I don’t really wanna do that, so why don’t ya tell me what’s goin’ on so I can get started on fixin’ it or skinnin’ myself, dependin’.” He’s not sure the accent helps him out here, but, by god, he’s gonna use every tool he has to try to fix this. 

“You’d - what?” Clint gave him a sort of stupefied look. “This escalated quickly. I was trying to get you to tell me that you were with Steve, so I wouldn’t have to look like a fuckin’ creeper and ask. It was, I will admit, a pretty fuckin’ shit plan, because even if the answer was no, I’d have to figure out something else to find out for sure if you were into men. But, I guess that’s why I have a bow and not the Frisbee of Freedom.” 

Bucky barks out a laugh, and follows that up with a round of laughter so hard it feels like his spine is trying to touch his sternum. This was he knew for with absolute certainty, the wrong reaction. He didn’t even need to look at Clint to know this is the wrong reaction, but he just can’t stop it. His sides hurt, and it felt like his face is going to either rip open or burn off, and the tears were just streaming from his eyes. He desperately needed to get himself uncontrol, but it was just so goddamn funny, ok? Here he’s been flirting with Clint all day, or for the last couple of days, or weeks, or months or - fuck, since he met the guy, maybe, and Clint was worried not just that Bucky’s not into _him_ , but that he isn’t into guys at all, or if so, into _Steve_ , and, gross. And fuck, it’s just really funny and is he’s just really an asshole and fuck. 

“Oh, fuck you, Barnes,” Clint spat hotly as he moved to get off the couch. 

Without thinking, Bucky’s hand shot out and wrapped around Clint’s wrist. Clint was going to leave and that was the absolute wrong thing to happen here, and he can’t allow that, like, at all. With a gentle tug, he pulled Clint back. For his part, Clint went willingly, even when Bucky started to pull him into his lap. 

“Glady, Clint.” Bucky said it so simply even though he was still shaking with repressed laughter, but it is said with no affectation or exaggerated expression, and Clint was just so fucking confused. Bucky took a deep breath to chase away the last of the laughter and started to explain what was so funny. “Clint, Steve is exactly as straight as everyone thinks. Well, except for the obvious crush on Tony, but that ain’t like anything I’ve seen before. And even if he weren’t, he’s m’ brother and that’s just not a thing. I only said ‘Steve’s Bucky’ for lack of anything better to say. All I meant by is was the guy Stevie keeps talkin’ about, and that guy ain’t me, even if we got the same name.” He took another long, slow breath. “But, Clint, I was laughin’ because it is just so funny that I’ve been sittin’ here flirtin with ya, but I’m so bad at it and so worried I am coming off as creepy, and, apparently, you’ve missed all of it if you’re thinkin I might not even like fellas. Does that make sense? I’m rippin’ myself apart tryin’ not to be some gross ol’ man comin on too strong, and you’re over here, apparently, oblivious but feelin somehin’ similar. We’re a fuckin’ pair, Doll.” 

Before he could think too much about it or talk himself out of it or whatever dumbfuck thing he’s likely to do, Clint leaned in and kisse Bucky. He puts everything he had into the kiss; all the affection, frustration, attraction, friendship, all of it went into that the kiss. For the next two minutes or ten years or thirty seconds, Clint’s not sure because time no longer has any meaning, his entire world has narrowed down to the feel of Bucky’s lips against his and the warmth of Bucky’s flesh hand on the back of his neck and the sound of his heart beating in his ears. 

When they finally broke apart Bucky laughed again, just a chuckle this time. “We’ve been shit at everything that lead up to this, Doll, but that was fuckin’ spectacular.” It’s a weird thing to say, but it made perfect sense to Clint. 

“Shut up, Barnes. Today you’re about 50/50 on fucking everything up when you open your mouth. Don’t fuck this up.” 

Bucky had a half dozen things he wants to say in reply, mostly about how none of this has been his fault, but Clint had a point, and there were far more pleasant things he could be doing with his mouth, so he decided to just kiss Clint some more. He’s pretty sure he can’t fuck that up. 

**=|=|=|=|=**

The next couple of hours passed in a dreamy sort of haze, full of kisses and whispered nothings, all tangled up in each other on the couch while Dog Cops continued to play in the background. Eventually, though, the real world snuck in, as it is wont to do. 

“Fuck,” Clint sighs, dropping his forehead to rest on Bucky’s chest. 

“What’s wrong, sweet thing?” 

“I”ve had to piss for the last twenty minutes, and if I wait any longer I am just going to piss myself, but I am afraid that if I get up this is all going to be over and we’ll never get it back.” 

“Clint,” Bucky drops a kiss on the top of his head, “if you get up, yeah, this will all be over, but then we can start something else. If you don’t get up, you’re going to piss all over me, and this will all be over and I’m going to leave.” 

“That’s fair.” He sighs and pushes himself up and off of Bucky. “That means you’ll be here when I get back?” 

“Yeah, Doll, of course I’ll be here,” he says with a sweet smile, “If nothin’ else, we got some shit to talk about, yeah?” 

Clint sighs at that, because he knows Bucky isn’t wrong, but talking sucks and he is so fucking bad at it, and this whole thing started because Clint was going to talk about shit and, fuck. Talking lead to knowing, and knowing about Clint always seemed to ruin things. Even so, he still wanted to explain to Bucky what was wrong, even if the idea scared him. He certainly didn’t want to pile more bullshit on to the heaps of shit that Bucky walked around with already, but it didn’t feel like that was going to happen. It felt more like sharing the load, kinda like he’d done with Natasha all those years ago, but also completely different. Now, it was more than that, because they had to talk about all the kissing, and that was terrifying, because it seemed like there were more ways than not that that conversation could end the kissing entirely, and that was not at all what Clint wanted. 

He did the needful and came back into the living room to find Bucky slouched on the couch looking at something on his phone. 

“You’re still here,” he says, stating the obvious and feeling stupid for it. 

“Of course I’m still here, where else would I be?” Bucky asks, but there is no confusion in his voice. He sets his phone on the end table and sits up a little straighter on the couch. “I told you I would be. ‘Sides, here is where you are.” 

“We spent the last however long making out, Barnes, you don’t have to work the charm so hard,” he says as he flops down on the couch. 

“Wellll,” he drags the word out while he looks meaningfully at Clint, eyes sparkling with….something, “I don’t exactly think that’s true. I think th’ opposite, actually. If I want that t’ keep happenin’, I think I need turn up the charm.” Bucky reaches a hand out to Clint, an offering, and Clint takes it so Bucky can pull him in. “The way I see it, I’ve been sweet on you for a good minute. Probably longer than I realize, because I’m outta practice and still not to sure about-” he cuts himself off and clears his throat. It makes something in Clint’s chest twist, and he adjusts them so Bucky is reclining sideways on the couch with Clint just sort of clinging to him like a koala. “Thanks, sweet thing, but it isn’t anything other than how it is now.” He drops a kiss on Clint’s forehead before continuing, “my point is just that I’ve been tryin’ t’ flirt and be sweet, and you thought I was fuckin’ Steve, so, clearly my tactics don’t work. At least not on you, and that’s all that really matters here.” 

Clint looks up at him a little incredulously. “How long have you been working at this? I don’t think I’m that clueless. I’m Hawkeye afterall.” 

The touch of indignation in his voice makes Bucky smile. “Yeah, but Hawkeye see’s better from a distance, or so I hear, and you’re pretty close to this.” He gives the clueless blonde sprawled on top of him a soft squeeze. “But, like I said, I don’t know. Some of it is, well, for a long time I just acted the same around everyone, because I was tryin’ so hard to be somethin’ close to normal, somethin’ that wasn’t straight out of a ghost story created by bad guys t’ scare worse guys. I forgot that normal people act different around different people, because that’s how it works. Like, I’m not gonna’ sit and talk about Russian poetry with Tony, right, or try and play Risk with Steve.” Clint snorts into Bucky’s shirt at that. “Hey, I can hold my own at Risk, just not against someone known for bein’ one of the most brilliant military strategists blah blah blah. I’m just usin’ it as an example. That’s just part of being a person who lives around people that I forgot. So, I dunno how much of it was that, or how much of it was my reactin’ to the fact that you’re a natural flirt, and I was just givin’ back what I got.” 

“Ok, that’s fair. Depressing, but fair. Except I am not a flirt.” 

“Clint, sweet thing, you’re a fuckin’ shameless flirt.” There’s no heat there, just a smile, “You flirt with everyone. You flirt like breathin’. It’s cute. Makes people feel special, catchin’ the eye of the Amazin’ Hawkeye. I dunno if you’re different with me, though. I wanted t’ see it so bad I am not sure if it was real or n-” 

“It was. It is.” Clint blurts out, completely cutting Bucky off. 

Bucky chuckles and drops another kiss on Clint’s forehead. “Good to know, sweet thing. But, to finally answer you’re question, I actually don’t anything for sure before a coupla days ago.” 

Clint turns his head, digging his chin into Bucky’s chest and fixing him with that incredulous glare again. “A couple of days, Barnes? That’s it? All of this for a couple of days.” 

“That’s not what I said, you infuriating bird,” he replies, but there is a big smile splitting his face, “I said I’ve only been aware of it for a coupla days. I don’t know how you didn’t notice, though. Why in the hell else would I volunteer to go with you on a PR outing?” 

“To keep Darcy off your back. And because you like animals.” 

“Clint, aside from you, I am not sure if I actually like anything. Well, I know I don’t like lima beans, but aside from that, I’m still figurin’ stuff out. Animals included. I think I like cats, though, but I don’t think I used to.” 

“Aw, Buck. That’s not true. You have most things figured out.” 

“Not the important part of what I said, Clint.” He pauses thoughtfully, “And maybe I’m not Bucky. Back to the shit from earlier, Bucky was Steve’s boyhood friend, and he don’t exist outside of memories anymore. ‘M definitely not Steve’s Bucky anymore.” 

“Fair enough. Then who are you?” Clint tightens his hold, just a little bit. He knows something important is happening, and he is so grateful to be a part of it, but he is at a complete loss as to what to do. “I mean, I know you don’t know, don’t get all scowly on me. I, just, who do you know about who you are?” 

“I know I’m not Bucky, and it’s gonna break Stevie’s heart if I tell him I don’t wanna be called ‘Bucky’ anymore, but I’m, what? In my mid thirties now? I could do the math of the time I spent outta cryo and figure it out, but that’s gotta be in the ballpark. If shit hadnta gone down the way it did, would I still be going by it? Would I be a thirty something accountant or some shit going to work everyday, calling himself ‘Bucky’? Letting _other people_ call him ‘Bucky’?” His face falls at that, as he smacked in the face by something he hadn’t considered before, “But Steve ain’t Stevie, either, is he? If he’d stayed outta the ice and in the military, there’s no way he’d be Captain Stevie Rogers, right?” He lets his head fall back, landing somewhat awkwardly on the back of the couch. “Fuck, that’s a whole tangle of conversations I don’t wanna have.” 

Clint hums noncommittally, because, yeah, that’s going to be a tough one and he lov- likes Bucky and all, but he’s really glad he doesn’t have to be a part of it. “Might be easier if you answer the who you are question first. Or, at least, figure out a starting point.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Bucky picks his head up, so he can look down at the archer in his arms with an impossibly fond smile, “See, sometimes you’re observant.” That comment is rewarded with a pinch to the side, not hard, but it didn’t tickle, either. “Fine, fine. Lesson learned. Be nice to Clint when he’s in pinching distance. But, back to the task at hand. I don’t even know where to start. I don’t even know what I want to be called or who I want to be. Who do you think I am?” 

He isn’t really expecting an answer, so he’s surprised when Clint wriggles his way into a sort of sitting position and looking at him meaningfully. “I think, I- fuck.” He closes his eyes and takes a breath before starting again. “I think you have said somethings about being normal or trying to be normal and stuff like that. Personally, I think normal is overrated, but I also don’t think that is what you actually mean. I think you just want to be something,” he shakes his head, “some _one_ who fits in somewhere, or at least doesn’t stand out. You don’t want to be seen as scary or intimidating, definitely, and, I may be way off base here, but I don’t think I am, but I think you want to be treated like an adult.” Clint laughs a little. “I mean, I think you are treated like an adult, but I’ve seen it, people double check your answers on things, to make sure you really mean it, even if it is just what you want for dinner. I think that is part of why you think you don’t know if you like anything, honestly. I think we’ve all tried to hard to help we’ve actually made some things worse, and I’m sorry for my part in that.” He pauses, to organize his thoughts and silently congratulate himself on saying literally anything other than ‘Clint’s Bucky,’ “Yeah, I know you know I didn’t mean it. Not the point. But, the rest of it? How’d I do?” 

“I, well, fuck, Barton. You could be a shrink.” 

“Naw, I’d be terrible at it, but I’ve spent enough time in SHIELD mandated therapy to fake it,” Clint says with a wink. “But, what do you think, Barnes? Any of that close to accurate? Any sort of starting point?” 

“I think,” he starts hesitantly, “I think I want you to call me James. I think I’m James. I am James, and I like Clint Barton and I don’t like lima beans, and I am considering cats.” James wraps his arms around Clint and pulls him down to his chest. “Thank you, Clint,” he mumbles into Clint’s hair. 

**=|=|=|=|=**

The night went on with more kissing and more touching and more talking. Clint eventually shared with James why he was so anxious about visiting the kids in the hospital, which made James want to go back in time and wrap his hands around the neck of Clint’s asshole of a father squeeze until the life faded from his eyes, but the man is dead and gone - had been for decades - so he settled for holding Clint and whispering promises to rip apart anyone who ever hurt him again. It was sweet in a terrifying sort of way, also a little ridiculous, given that the man he was talking to wasn’t exactly a helpless damsel. Eventually they’d talked themselves out and Clint fell asleep half on james, and half tucked against the back of the couch. Laying there with 230 lbs of dead-weight archer sprawled out over him, James actually found a reason to appreciate the metal arm he’d spent so long loathing: it couldn’t fall asleep, which meant it didn’t need to be repositioned and he wouldn’t have to disturb the amazin man that didn’t care that he had a weaponized metal prosthesis instead of a real arm. 

**=|=|=|=|=**

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Part of it was the new relationship haze of excitement and sex and affection, but an inordinate number of bad guy attacks seemed to crop up. Well, maybe it wasn’t any more than usual, and it only felt that way because there were other things they’d rather be doing, but the end result is they were still tied up with work a fair bit of time. After several days of fretting and carefully figuring out what he was going to say, James finally sat down with Steve to have the awkward “I’m not who you remember” conversation. 

“Of course, not, Buc- James.” Steve said earnestly. “I might slip up on the name, but, I finally figure that out. I’m not little Stevie anymore, either, and I had just as hard a time figuring that out.” He laughed a little, “I guess I can be a little slow on the uptake, but I get there eventually. That’s what counts, right?” 

All in all, it went better than James could have hoped. They were both on the same page, and yeah, the name thing was a little weird but they both figured out that having nicknames wasn’t actually weird, at least not as long as both of them realized that they were different people. It actually appeared to take some pressure off of both of them, which they were grateful for. 

Before either of them realized it, it was the night before Clint the appearance at the hospital, and Clint was trying - and failing miserably - to keep calm and pretend it was just another mission. They weren’t set to leave until quarter to noon the next day, but Darcy wanted to meet with them at 9 am to go over the plan and expectations and all that, and the fact that he needed to be briefed just seemed to make his anxiety over the whole thing exponentially worse. 

“Hey, sweet thing,” James crooned softly as he pulled him into a tight hug, “you need to calm down or you’re going to make yourself sick. I’d tell you to keep it up if I thought bein’ sick would get you outta this, but Darcy would probably just give you a B12 shot and some Pepto Bismol and send you anyway.” 

The joke falls flat, and Clint just grimaces. “This is useless. How can they send an Avenger to do this type of shit?” 

James pulled back just enough to be able to see his face clearly. “Barton, you were sent to take out the Black fucking Widow. You tellin’ me you were this nervous before that mission?” 

“No, fuck no. That shit is kill or be killed. I can do that all the livelong day.” 

“Ok, first, we’re coming back to that, because, yeah, no, that is the wrong attitude,” there is an element to the comment that is playful, but Clint doesn’t think for a second that that wasn’t James giving him a legitimate scolding, “but more importantly, you didn’t kill the Widow.” 

“Of course not. You couldn’t kill Nat, either,” Clint counters. 

James doesn’t actually grit his teeth at Clint’s response, and he is actually pretty proud of that. “Not what I mean, Clint. I mean, you’re right, I tried and failed twice, but you never tried, did you?” 

“What are you talking about, of course I did, it was the mission.” 

“Don’t fuck with me, not now. You are the world’s greatest unenhanced marksman,” Clint pinched him at that. He didn’t need the qualifier, thankyouverymuch. “And she let you bring her in, so she let you get her. Those two things together mean that if you had tried, you would have succeeded. So, you never tried to kill her. You brought her in. when she was, what, 16? A year or two on either side?” 

“About that, yeah,” Clint replies vaguely, but James doesn’t want to chase down why. That is between Clint and Natasha, and that’s fine. “What does that have to do with anything, Barnes? How is that supposed to help me walk into a hospital that smells like bleach and death and smile at kids?” 

“Because you were sent to a warehouse that smelled like blood and death to kill a child, and instead you brought her home and gave her a family. You’re worrying about the hospital, but you should be focusing on the kids.” 

Clint shoves at James half-heartedly. “How very dare you come at me with facts and logic, you son of a bitch.” The words are harsh, but his voice is flat; there is no bite there. 

“Hey, now, my ma’ was a great lady.” He’s smiling. The prick is smiling, and fuck him forever for smiling and being sweet and ruining a perfectly good manufactured freakout. 

“Ok, fine. How very dare you come at me with logic and facts, _you jackass_ .” 

Before he realizes it’s happening he’s being pulled back into a hug, and he’ll be nailed to a wall if it isn’t the most comforting thing in the entire fucking world. “I’ve been cursed with stubborn, persnickety blondes. I’ve had lotsa practice, Barton, you ain’t gonna beat me at this.” He drops a kiss on Clint’s forehead, and goddamnit, it helps. “It’ll be fine, sweet thing, you’ll see. It’ll be four hours of looking at drawings you don’t understand and smiling at prized stuffed animals, and then you’ll be home and we can snag a bottle of Tony’s good hooch and camp out on the couch with it and some pizza and those ice cream movies Darcy won’t shut up about.” 

“Ice cream movies? What?” It briefly occurs to Clint that he’s just been played, but the promise of getting drunk on unreasonably expensive alcohol with Tony while snuggled up with James sounds fantastic enough that he doesn’t care, even if he can’t figure out what ‘ice cream movies’ means. He’ll have to ask Darcy at the debrief. 

“Ha, I win.” James gives hims a chaste kiss, that manages to feel like he is being wrapped in the softest and fluffiest blanket in the world. “Let’s go to bed. I’ll make us pancakes in the morning before everything starts.” 

“‘M not tired,” Clind mumbles into his chest. “‘N’ I want waffles.” 

James pulls him in closer. “Oh, I’ll tire you out, don’t worry about that.” He drops a kiss on Clint’s forehead, “and waffles it is. Now c’mon. I got _plans_ .” 

**=|=|=|=|=**

The next morning he is woken from a deep sleep with a soft kiss and steaming mug of coffee waiting on the nightstand. As promised, James managed to thoroughly wear him out last night and he made it through the night without any nightmares. It was as good as he could hope for on the best of nights, and he decided to take it as a good omen, even if he didn’t really believe in that sort of thing. 

“Mornin’ sleepyhead. Breakfast is ready.” 

Clint cracked an eye open, and holy shit, absolutely no one had any right to look that goddamn good at whateverthefuck o’clock in the morning. Ok, so, fine, it was 7 something and reasonable people were up at that time, but, look, no one had ever confused him for a reasonable person. 

He mumbled something mostly unintelligable, but James was able to pick out “waffles” and “hot” and, he was pretty sure, “ass,” but morning Clint didn’t exactly speak English, especially not before he had his aides in. Since they were in his hand and not Clint’s ears, James knew he hadn’t been heard. Very carefully he tucked one behind the left ear that was just visible over the edge of the blankets before starting again. “C’mon, sweet thing, breakfast is ready. Up and at ‘em, before the waffles dry out.” 

Clint responded in, well, typical Clint fashion - he pulled the covers up over his head and an shot an arm out to grab the coffee off the nightstand. It was adorable, and so very Clint, and an incredibly stupid thing to do. James, though, just chuckled before calling out “c’mon, my handsome. Either get up on your own or I will get you up.” 

The blob under the blankets just mumbled and shifts a little before making a really rather gross slurping sound followed by an almost pornographic moan. “Yes, I know I make great coffee, now _get up._ ” 

Nothing happened, so James did the only thing he could: he walked to the foot of the bed, grabbed the covers, and yanked. 

“FUCK EVERYTHING YOU LOVE FROM HELL TO BREAKFAST, BARNES” Clint raged, flailing, somewhat miraculously without spilling any coffee. 

“Well,” James starts evenly, “last night was amazin’, an’ breakfast is ready, sweet thing, so I think I’ve done that.” 

He sounds so chipper and so nice and Clint loves him and also wants him to take a very long walk off a very short pier. And he’s kinda right, which makes everything so much _worse_ . Clint had been stuck in a hell of his own making and now there were waffles, and shit, he was caught. 

“Fine, but I’m not eating waffles naked. Where are my pants?” 

An impossibly soft wad of grey fabric hit him in the fact, and, on closer inspection, he could see the little red stars all over them. Great, another bit of novelty Avengers merch. “Aw, Jaaaaaaaames, no. I’m gonna have the Winter Soldier all over my ass. No.” 

‘Well, won’t be the first time,” James says with a chuckle. “Now get up, or I am going to invite Steve over to eat all your waffles.” 

Clint just flips him off, but a couple of seconds later he actually moves to sit up, placing the - empty- coffee cup back on the nightstand before pulling on the pants. “Fine, lemme at them waffles. Jackass.” 

**=|=|=|=|=**

Breakfast passed quickly, too quickly for Clint’s liking, and before he knew it James was holding his hand and mostly dragging him towards the common room dining table. Sam and Darcy were already there, chatting idly over steaming cups of coffee. James points Clint towards and chair and heads off to get them coffee of their own. 

“You’re wonderful, you know that,” Clint says wistfully. 

“Doll, you’re too kind,” James replies, kissing Clint’s temple. 

“You’re ok, but I was talking to the coffee.” 

“Ouch, Hawkass, harsh,” Darcy cuts in. She gives James a pointed look and continues, “listen, tall, dark, and gorgeous, you get tired of his sass you just come find me and I’ll show you how great you are.” 

Tony walks in just as she finishes talking. “Oh, no, shortstack,” he says to Darcy, pulling his classes down his nose, “I called dibs a long time ago. You decide to hop on the Avengers-go-round, remember that I’m first in line.” 

“That was awful, this is awful, you are awful, Stark,” she giggles at him, “I don’t understand why people let you talk. But! You’re here, and that brings me to the first rule for today: Don’t say things I will have to apologize for later.” 

Tony groans, “well damn, Lewis, I’m not going to be able to say anything at all.” 

“That’s the spirit, Tony!” 

With that, she was off, outlining the schedule for the day, that they weren’t going in uniform but they still needed to look nice, what they could expect, and a brief but detailed list of things to do and not do. It seemed pretty straight forward, mostly just be nice to the kids, don’t make any guarantees about anything, and if I kid shows you a drawing and you can’t tell what it is, you ask “will you tell me about it” instead of “what is it.” Clint could definitely handle this, almost probably. 

All in all, the whole thing took about fifteen minutes, which gave him about two and a half hours before he needed to be in the car. That was enough time for a whole bunch of things, like a nap or a couple of games or cribbage or a thorough freakout. Luckily, he had a James who had a couple of ideas as to how they could kill time. By the time 11 rolled around he was feeling pretty good and not really worried about much of anything, especially since James was dragging him into the shower, and that was always a good time. The shower ended eventually, far too soon, really, and James was handing him clothes to wear and fixing his hair. He was so glad that he didn’t have to worry about any of this shit that he didn’t both to resent the fact he was being treated like a child. Especially since he figured out that if James weren’t holding his hand as he walked down to the car, he would just bolt and hang out in the vents until Darcy stopped being mad at him. 

Turns out, the car was actually a limo, which seemed odd to him, but he knew approximately dick about these sorts of things, so he just ran with it. Tony and Sam were already inside, but Darcy was standing next to the open door waiting for him, and that was a hint even he could take. 

James pulled him into a bear hug that was warm and tight and fortifying and perfect, and followed it up with a sweet kiss. Reluctantly, Clint managed to pull himself away from James and turn toward the car. 

“Whoa, hold up, love birds,” Darcy chirped out, “as much as I love watching you two be cute and smooshy, I am not sure why are you acting like one of you is going off to war. Both of you in the car now, we’re running late.” 

‘What? No, huh? I ain’t goin’,” James stammered out. 

“Yeah, man, you are,” Darcy countered. “After you sat through the rules this morning, I added you to the list. You’re definitely going.” 

“I, uh, no?” was James’s eloquent rebuttal. 

“In the car, Sargeant. Don’t make me tase you.” 

How someone so tiny could be so terrifying continued to baffle James. He’d met plenty of people who’d worked their entire lives and still didn’t have a presence half as commanding as she did. There was really nothing for him to do but follow Clint into the car. 

Darcy went over the rules and expectations again, and had something to counter every argument James could conjure up. Basically, she was thrilled he was going, and so what the hospital staff, because James was an adult amputee with a successful and fulfilling life. That little bit of info hit James like a bat to the head; it made sense, but wasn’t anything he had ever considered before. Maybe this would be good, maybe this would be a chance to help that didn’t involve hurting people or bad guys. 

**=|=|=|=|=**

In far less time than he would have figured, they were at the hospital and being escorted into a day room by a cadre of nurses and doctors in brightly printed scrubs. Waiting for them there were eighteen children ranging in age from four to seventeen, all with high smiles on their faces. Some were in wheelchairs, and some had crutches. More than James would have imagine had bald heads, and his heart broke in a way he would have never imagined. Janice, the kind middle aged woman with bright pink hair that had introduced herself as the “Director of Chaos” introduced the Avengers to the kids, and then the kids to the Avengers. There was an awkward moment after the introductions when no one seemed to know what to do, but it ended abruptly when Sam saw that a small boy in a wheelchair was holding a little Falcon bobblehead. 

“Oh, hey! I know that guy!” Sam exclaimed happily and darted over to the kid who started chattering at him excitedly. 

James isn’t sure what happened next, because he saw a little girl, maybe ten years old, with no hair and the biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen was staring at him intently. Looking a little more closely he noticed that her shirt hung limply on her left side. He smiled at her and gave a little wave with his left hand as he started in her direction. 

When he reached her, he dropped down to one knee, to put himself at her leve. “Hello, ma’am, my name is James, what’s yours?” He said as gently as he could, holding his hand out for her to shake. 

“Lily,” she said tentatively, though she did shake the proffered hand. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lily. Looks like you and I have something in common.” 

“You don’t like the movie Frozen either?” she asked with a challenging smirk. 

James laughed, because what else could he possibly do. “No, as a matter of fact, I don’t. And to make it even worse, that jerk over there,” he hooked a thumb in Tony’s direction, “keeps calling me Elsa and singing ‘Let it Go’ at me.” 

“What an asshole.” 

Bucky barks a laugh at the same time a frazzled looking woman with big, bright brown eyes stomps over. “Lily! You know better than to talk like that.” The woman turns away from Lily to look a James, a look that is somewhere between cross and pleading on her face. He knows he needs to stop laughing, he is interfering with actual parenting here, but Lily’s response was so perfect and he can’t wait to tell Tony about it on the way home. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes. Lily knows better than that, but she is in a mood today.” 

“It’s ok, ma’am. I’m in a mood most days. And she is, as Tony himself would say, not wrong.” 

The situation is diffused and he, Lily, and Lily’s mom, Kelly, settle in at a table in a corner for the room to get to know each other. Lily explains that she had Ewing’s Sarcoma, a rare type of bone cancer that usually presented in children, and it had eaten away at her left shoulder blade. They’d managed to completely remove the cancer, but they also removed her arm and most of her shoulder. Upon hearing that James pulled his left arm out of his sleeve to show her that he’d lost his arm and most of his shoulder too. He didn’t really even thing before he did it, which was a problem, because he scarring was heavy and could be scary, but Lily just looked at it with those big eyes and shook her head sagely, like she knew exactly what he was living with, though, he realized, she did. 

“I know we’re not supposed to ask, but how does your arm work? The doctors said there isn’t enough bone left to support a prosthetic.” 

James explained honestly that he wasn’t sure the specifics of how the arm worked or what the damage was, it had been a long time ago and the doctors had decided for him. He felt a little strange explaining this to a child, but Lily was very obviously wise beyond her years, and she had a better understanding of the medical aspects than he did, so as long as he stayed away from the truly horrifying stuff, it should be ok. He did know that he was going to talk to Tony and maybe Shuri to see if they could figure something out. 

He’d totally lost track of time talking to Lily, and gladly would have spent longer with her, but it was time for one of her infusions, and Linda had explained that they were pretty taxing on her. They exchanged phone numbers, and with a careful hug, he watched them walk away. 

As soon as they were out of sight, he turned his attention back to the room. Sam was reading a book to a group of kids, making them giggle with his funny voices. Tony was sitting cross legged on the floor a handful of kids asked him questions about robots. One of the kids, a little boy who couldn't have been more than four or five years old, was holding what looked like a little erector set doll. Tony’d tell him later that it was a little robot that could - but was no longer allowed - to pick up and fling peas. ‘“It was actually pretty advanced, especially considering it was made with mismatched pieces,” he’d explained proudly. 

What caught his eye - and stole his breath - was Clint over in a corner of the room, sprawled out on a brightly colored rug, coloring with a group of what looked to be middle school aged kids. They were talking and laughing and doodling away, occasionally commenting on each other’s drawings. 

“Hey, now, it’s my tiger and it can be purple if I want it to be. Purple is the best,” Clint said cheerfully. 

“Yeah, it’s just blue. It’s nothing special,” one kid retorted. 

“Jax, you only see blue, your opinion doesn’t matter here,” a girl replied, giggling. James noticed that she was signing as she spoke. 

“Oh, man, you can’t see purple? That sucks, bro,” Clint chided. 

The boy, Jax, apparently, responded by covering his mouth with his hand and whispering. Clearly the point was to hide what he was saying from Clint, and James was instantly irrationally angry at a sick preteen, but before he could get too worked up the whole group erupted in a fit of giggles and promptly returned to making fun of each other. James didn’t get it, but he didn’t have to; they did, and that was what was important. 

It wasn’t too much longer before all the kid had wandered off, either to treatments or therapy or just to rest because they had over taxed themselves. He knew it was going to happen, but it that didn’t make the reality of it any easier to swallow, especially since it meant that it was time to go room-to-room to visit the kids who were too sick to come out to the day room. 

They split up, each visiting kids on their own, to try and get the most coverage, and James was more than a little terrified. He knew better than most how awful it felt to have people look at you like you were broken, and he wanted to avoid making anyone feel that way, but was afraid it was inevitable. 

In the end, he didn’t need to worry. His first stop was to visit a seventeen year old boy who had been paralyzed in a car accident about a month earlier. The kid, Jamal, was in great spirits and made jokes about the football coaches at his high school finally leaving him alone about joining the team. “Just because I am big doesn’t mean I wanna run around and play catch,” he laughed, and went on to explain that his interest was in computers and his injuries wouldn't have much impact on that. “My goal is to get into MIT. I really want to study data compilation systems. I’ve read a bunch about AFIS, and I know that it deals with a huge amount of data, but there has got to be a way to better organize the system so it doesn’t take so long to get results.” 

James had next to no idea what he was talking about, but loved the enthusiasm and had a pretty good idea of someone who might. “Hold on just a minute, I might have something,” and he pulled out his phone and texted Tony what Jamal had told him, or as close as he could get. It wasn’t two minutes later before Tony walked into the room, already excitedly asking Jamal to read him in. James smiled and said some quick good-byes before backing out of the room. 

He wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go next, and he couldn’t find Darcy or Janice, so he just strolled along the hallway, hoping he’d figure out what to do. Turns out, what to do was watch Clint interacting with a tiny blonde boy who was excitedly showing him pictures. 

“And this one is where Miss Alex was teaching me how to make the sauce, and she puts sugar in it and everything. But she says it isn’t-” 

The little boy continued on, but an impossibly blonde man sitting next to the bed, who must be some relation to the boy, looked up at James. James smiled and offered a small wave, and made a move to walk away when the man got up and walked over to him. 

“Sergeant Barnes, thank you for coming today. All of you,” he added, holding out his right hand. 

“James, please. No need to stand on ceremony,” James said, shaking the man’s hand. 

“Oh, hell, I’m sorry. I’m Brian, the little man in the bed is my son, uh, James.” The man laughed. 

James just smiles at him, “It’s a good name, but I may be biased.” 

“Well, he’s a good kid, and I’m totally biased. Thank you guys for coming today. I already said that, but I don’t think I can say it enough.” 

“I can honestly say it is my pleasure. This has been an amazing experience.” 

“Mr. Barton has been letting James show him pictures of his Make a Wish day. Most people wouldn’t do that. I love the kid, and I can only sit through it so many times before I want to hide in the bathroom.” Brian laughs, but quickly adds, “I don’t mean that. Not really. I’m just trying to say that Mr. Barton is being so patient and so good, and we appreciate it so much.” 

“He’s a pretty incredible guy, that’s for sure, but I’ll tell you, Clint’s a terrible actor and he seems to be having a pretty good time.” 

“No one has a good time when a four year old shows explains, in great detail, picture of himself making pizza.” 

James coughs to try and cover a laugh, “Oh, Brian, you don’t know Clint. Pizza, dogs, and bows are his three main interests.” 

Clint finally looks up and sees James standing the doorway. “Jamie, come see! James here got to make pizza with Alex Guarnaschelli! I am so jealous. I wonder what I’d have to do to make pizza with Alex Guarnaschelli?” 

“I think you just hafta be dyin’,” James little voice pops in from next to Clint. It takes everything he has to keep his face neutral at that. 

“Maybe you just have to be super awesome,” Clint counters. “Here, tell me about this one, what are you doing here?” 

Little James is off and running again, explaining something about how he dropped his hat and got cheese on it. Big James turns to Brian, but the man just shakes his head a little. “He’s so good with him. Hawkeye, he’s so good with the kids.” 

James can’t help but agree. He looks back at Clint, who excitedly talking about his favorite pizza toppings, and can’t see a single trace of the worry or fear that had been plaguing him for weeks. All he sees is a gorgeous man making a little kid really happy. 

**=|=|=|=|=**

They are back in the car in what feels like ten minutes, but they actually ended up staying almost two hours long than they had originally planned. As soon as the door closes Darcy declares the day a success. 

“That went so much better than I could have hoped for. You guys did great, and since you all seem to be in good spirits, it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be right?” 

The four men grumbled their agreement, and Darcy looked like she had just won the lottery. They spend the rest of the drive back to the tower talking about the kids they’d met and the stories they’d heard. It was a great day over all, but James and Clint were both more than ready to be home when they walked out of the elevator on Clint’s floor. 

“See, sweet thing, that wasn’t so bad, right?” James asked as he slipped his arms around Clint’s waist. 

“No, I had fun, even if it was sad,” he answered, leaning his head on James’s shoulder. “I just wish I could do more than look at pictures or whatever.” 

“I hear that, but this is a good start, right? Let’s go shower and then we’ll order food and spend the rest of the night on the couch watching shitty TV. Sound good?” 

“Sounds great, James.” 

**=|=|=|=|=**

The success of the previous appearances ended up making Darcy’s life a whole lot easier in a whole lot of ways. Two months later Dr. Rose was holding another adoption event, and all of the Avengers agreed to go. 

“Dibs on dogs!” Clint yelled as he got out of the van. “Hi, Rose,” He said, giving the perennially frazzled looking vet a kiss on the cheek, “I called dibs on the dogs, is that ok?” 

“Yes, Clint, that’s fine,” she laughed, “same as last time, so you know what to do.” 

“YES! ALL DOGGOS ALL DAY!” Clint shouted as he made his way across the park. 

“I’m guessing you want to stick with the cats, then?” she asks James. 

“Yes, ma’am, unless you need me somewhere else. I’m here for you,” James replied, turning on the charm. 

“Oh, you’re good. With the cats is fine. Same as with Clint, you’ve done this before, you know what to do.” 

James took off, so he missed Rose handing out assignments an offering explanations to the rest of the team, but he got the run-down form Natasha, who would be spending the day petting cats with him. 

“Tony’s wrangling pigs, which is about the most perfect thing ever,” Natasha explained as she cradled a fluffy little thing that looked like an over-full vacuum bag in her arms. “Sam and Wanda are both talking up birds, which, good luck with that, birds are awful. And Scott and Thor joined Clint in the dog park.” 

“What about Steve and Bruce?” James asked, trying to keep a tiny, boneless black blob from climbing his face. 

“Oh, Steve is roaming around talking to people and helping out where needed.” 

“And Bruce is administering vaccines,” Bruce chimed in, out of nowhere. “I talked to Darcy about it, and she got me in touch with Rose, and we decided it would be a good idea to offer a low cost vaccine and microchip clinic in conjunction with the adoption event. Frankly, even this taxes my tolerance for animals.” 

“Not interested in spending the day playing with animals?” 

“I’m not much into having dependents who can be disappointed in me.” He said pointedly. “I will stick with my plants, thanks.” 

The day goes off without a hitch. Tons of pictures flood in to twitter, and the number of adoptions are staggering. At the end of the day, Darcy offers them all a month free from appearances as a reward. All in all, it was pretty great. 

**Author's Note:**

> Infinite thanks to the Bad Decision Buddies for the help, the sprints, the courage meant, and plant friend Bruce. 
> 
> Title is from the MDFMK song Torpedos


End file.
